Chapter 5: What the Camera Wants

Shen Yichen had never once, in thirty years, done something without knowing why.

He did not know why he was standing in a studio car park at three in the morning.

He had not been invited to the night shoot.

There was a small plastic bottle in his coat pocket.

He knew the bottle was for nothing.

He had bought it that afternoon on the way home from the fitting, in a chemist's two streets from his flat.

He had told himself it was a precaution.

He was a man who made precautions.

He was not a man who made bottles of lube into precautions.

His phone had lit up in the car with a message from Cheng Ping.

It said that Ji Wanqing had told a magazine that idols only win Performer of the Year on charity votes.

Nobody was to answer her.

He had not answered her.

"You're early," said the security guard, who had recognized him and was too well trained to ask. "Where's the lantern street set?"

"Stage four, Teacher Shen. They're on the last scene."

He went in.

Stage four was a street of paper lanterns, hung from wires and lit from inside.

A hundred crew in black stood in the dark behind the lights.

Tang Mo stood in the middle of it in a grey work apron with flour on his sleeves.

He was in a scene with an old actor, and he was good.

Shen had known that.

He had said so to nobody.

He watched Tang cry in a single take, a clean quiet break in the voice.

Then the director called cut, and Tang turned to the crew and grinned.

It was the grin Shen knew from the press room.

Warm.

Generous.

Aimed at everyone.

He watched Tang thank an assistant by name and ask about her daughter's exam.

For forty minutes he watched Tang give the whole room exactly what it needed, one person at a time.

Not once did he let it see what it cost.

I've seen that face come off, Shen thought.

I saw it once before, three years ago, and I haven't been able to stop looking for it.

He did not say it to anyone.

At four, the assistant director called a break.

Tang walked out of the lights toward his trailer, still smiling at the crew.

The moment the door closed behind him, in the little window by the steps, the smile went out.

It did not fade.

It was simply gone.

Shen went up the steps and opened the door without knocking.

Tang was sitting at the make-up counter with a wet cloth in his hand, wiping the flour from his sleeve.

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